On the Edge of the War Zone eBook

It had been a lively picture to me, but to the soldiers,
I suppose, it had only been an every day’s occurrence.

My only fear had been that there might be children
or a wagon on the winding road. Luckily the way
was clear.

An hour later, the men returned, leading the horses.
They had galloped down to the river, and returned
by way of Voisins, where they had stopped right in
front of the house where the Captain was quartered,
and the Captain had been in the garden and seen them.

This time the Aspirant had to laugh. He slapped
one of the horses caressingly on the nose as he said:
“You devils! Couldn’t you go on a
lark without telling the Captain about it, and getting
us all into trouble?”

To make this all the funnier, that very night three
horses stabled in a rickety barn at Voisins, kicked
their door down, and pranced and neighed under the
Captain’s bedroom window.

The Captain is a nice chap, but he is not in his first
youth, and he is tired, and, well—­he is
a bit nervous. He said little, but that was to
the point. It was only: “You boys
will see that these things don’t happen, or
you will sleep in the straw behind your horses.”

This is the first time that I have seen anything of
the military organization, and I am filled with admiration
for it. I don’t know how it works behind
the trenches, but here, in the cantonnement, I could
set my clocks by the soup wagon—­a neat
little cart, drawn by two sturdy little horses, which
takes the hill at a fine gallop, and passes my gate
at exactly twenty-five minutes past eleven, and twenty-five
minutes past five every day. The men wait, with
their gamelles, at the top of the hill. The soup
looks good and smells delicious. Amelie says that
it tastes good. She has five soldiers in her
house, and she and Pere often eat with them, so she
knows.

From all this you can guess what my life is like,
and probably will be like until the impatiently awaited
spring offensive. But what you will find it hard
to imagine is the spirit and gaiety of these men.
It is hard to believe that they have been supporting
the monotony of trench life for so long, and living
under bombardment,—­and cavalry at that,
trained and hoping for another kind of warfare.
There is no sign of it on them.

XXX

December 17, 1916

Well, we did not keep our first division of dragoons
as long as we expected. They had passed part
of their three weeks out of the trenches at Nanteuil,
and on the journey, so it seemed to us as though they
were hardly settled down when the order came for them
to return. They were here only a little over a
week.

I had hardly got accustomed to seeing the Aspirant
about the house, either writing, with the cat on his
knees, or reading, with Dick sitting beside him, begging
to have his head patted, when one evening he came
in, and said quietly: “Well, madame, we
are leaving you in a day or two. The order for
the releve has come, but the day and hour are not
yet fixed.”